Chapter Twenty-Four: A Saint is a Sinner Too

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"We've got a case," Cassidy said, coming into the kitchen, laptop in one hand, notebook in the other.

"Shoot." I said, leaning back into my chair, the hot coffee cup heating my cold fingers.

"Well there are a bunch of people in Vegas-"

"Vegas?" Dean asked coming into the room, "We're going to Vegas?"

"Maybe," Cass said with a smile, "But you need to listen first."

"Got it, continue."

"Anyways, so starting two weeks ago there was a huge spike in deaths among locals. Now before you go saying anything, just keep listening. When I say a spike I mean, within those two weeks more than 30 people died. Coroner reports said they were all cardiac arrests and huge scratches on their arms. These were relatively healthy people, all between the ages of 16 to 60."

"Wait, teenagers are having heart attacks?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't stop there, the reports are saying that the heart attacks are all stress related."

"Like something is causing them to stress so much that they die?" I looked at Dad and then at Cassidy, "What the hell could do that?"

"Taxes," Dean said sarcastically.

"You don't even pay taxes." Cass rolled her eyes, "But to answer your question, I think it's a Buruburu." The smile on Dean's face evaporated.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. Why you gotta problem with it?" Dean sighed.

"Can we maybe not do this one?"

"Dean!" I was surprised.

"Look, I have a bad history with these things. It's not really something I want to have again."

"Is is like a supernatural STD?"

"No!" Dean exclaimed looking at me agast. "Ya' nasty." I shrugged.

"You're the one with the reputation, Dad."

"Stop. Just stop." He turned back to Cassidy, "Are you sure?" She handed him the pictures of the victims arms, all red and scratched up.

"I'm positive."

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"Can we please stop this damn car, I am going crazy back here!" Cassidy said, leaning forward, draping her arms over the bench seat.

"We have been going for a while guys." I added. To be fair, I was pretty used to the brutally long road trips with the guys. But we still had at least 10 hours to go and stopped once in Wyoming  since we left Bobby's this afternoon. We passed the Utah stateline an hour ago.

"Fifteen hours, Dean." Cassidy repeated.

"Fine!" He caved, "For the love of God, we will stop in Sandy, okay?"

"Is that in Salt Lake?"

"No, its just passed Salt Lake. You can make it." He had the serious dad voice going on. Cassidy smiled and leaned back into her half of the seat. Sam laughed quietly at Dean as we took the empty exit ramp. It was midnight when we pulled into the motel parking lot under a neon pink "Vacancy" sign. Muttering about how my grandfather used to drag them all over the country for days at a time and that he never complain, Dean made his was to the check-in office to get rooms.

"I think you hit a nerve," Sam joked, as we got our bags from the trunk. "He likes to do it in one sweep."

"Sam, if I have to sleep in the back of the car one more time this month, I'm going to lose my mind," Cassidy said with a shake of her head. "It's not that I mind it here and there, but come one, from Bobby's to Vegas is over twenty hours. It's a but much."

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